


Take a Break

by d-ama-ien (ama_janee)



Category: Video Blogging RPF, Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Other, Sick Character, yeah just straight forward Mayor Attorney fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:26:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27102664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ama_janee/pseuds/d-ama-ien
Summary: The District Attorney is sick, yet they drag themselves to work anyways. Damien convinces them to take a break, helping care for them after they agree to take the rest of the day off.
Relationships: Damien | The Mayor/Y/N | The District Attorney (Who Killed Markiplier?)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 62





	Take a Break

**Author's Note:**

  * For [graywhatsit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/graywhatsit/gifts).



You know you're sick- yesterday your body felt tired, bone achingly tired, you weren't able to finish even half of the dinner you made yourself, and you passed out before the clock chimed 8, barely waking up to your alarm this morning. But, you're not allowed to be sick, not with the trial coming up, with all the work you need to do. So, you trudge through your morning routine, managing to make yourself look something like presentable, arriving at the office on time, as usual, smiling at the secretary like there wasn't a worry in the world. Just the short walk to your office had you exhausted, but fortunately, you could sit while doing your work, and then you'd be fine.

You were not fine. It didn't matter that the only thing you had been doing for the last hour was paperwork; you were exhausted, barely able to focus on the paperwork in front of you. Just another hour or so until lunch, then another 5 hours until you could go home, then another three days until the weekend, and _then_ you could rest. For now, it was out of the question, and you page the secretary for some coffee before quickly changing your order to tea. Yeah, coffee wasn't the best idea with your stomach. Tea would have to do for the caffeine fix. 

The tea didn't do much for your fatigue. It was warm, tasted nice, and it felt good to have something in your nearly empty stomach, but you managed to get through to lunchtime, at least. You sigh as the phone rings, not wanting to deal with a last-minute request for a lunch meeting or anything that would add to your workload, and accidentally let the phone ring through. Whoops.

It starts ringing again a moment later, and this time you force yourself to take the call.

"I'm sorry to bother you, DA. I know your lunch break just started, but the mayor has requested a meeting," You bite back a groan at the secretary's message, instead saying they could send the mayor in. You groan after hanging up, though- if it was anyone, literally _anyone_ , else you could've said to claim you're busy and out of the office and that they could make an appointment for later. Yeah, that's not an option when it comes to the mayor.

Of course, the mayor isn't _just_ the mayor; he's Damien, your dearest friend, and usually, you'd happily clear the day for him at the drop of a hat. Today wasn't the usual; you are sick and wanted to steal a quick nap during your lunch break so that you could push through the rest of the day. But, if Damien requests your presence, then your presence is given. There's a knock on the door then, and you prepare yourself before calling out, "Come in!"

Damien comes in, a warm smile on his face, though it falls slightly when he sees your face. He seems to know something is off, even though you had done your best to force a smile before he came in. 

"Are you doing well, friend?" Damien asks, voice gentle with concern.

"Just a bit tired is all," you wave off his concern, gesturing for him to come in and sit. No reason to make him stand around; the cane only offers so much support after all.

"I'm sorry to pop in on you without warning. I realized how long it's been since we got to spend time together casually, and I know this is your usual lunchtime, so I figured we could go eat together," Damien sits on the edge of his seat, eyes trained on my face.

"That sounds lovely. Just let me grab my coat," you rise from your seat, having to pause and brace your weight on the desk when a wave of dizziness hits. Well, that's new. Damien is openly concerned now, standing and leaning on his cane as he puts a hesitant hand on your shoulder.

"Are you sure you're well? I wasn't going to say it, but you look awful," you figure you must look _really_ bad for Damien to say something like that. He never says anything negative about your appearance, except for in university when he would be laughing about how terrible you'd look after a good party.

"I'm fine, really, just-"

"This is more than "just tired," you look like you're going to pass out!" Damien's grip leaves your shoulder, and he briefly rests the back of his hand on your forehead. You'd blush at that if your face wasn't already so hot. "You're burning up. What on Earth possessed you to come in today? Get your stuff; we're taking you home this instant,"

"Damien, I can't just leave in the middle of the day. I have work to do!" You protest, blushing as Damien levels you with a stern stare- the kind he uses when his staff acts up and needs to be reprimanded. You've always shuddered just witnessing it, but seeing it could never prepare you for being on the receiving end of it.

"You're just putting your health at risk by staying. How much work will you get done if you end up needing to go to the hospital?"

"Okay, Dames, it's a cold,"

"Colds can become serious if not properly dealt with. Gather your things now. You're taking today and tomorrow off,"

“ _Tomorrow_?” He knows the case you have coming up, the work you have to do, and he thinks you're going to take a day and a half off? 

"Tomorrow. Friend, your work will suffer if you aren't well. I know you have that case coming up, and doing this to yourself is just putting that at risk," 

You want to keep protesting, should keep protesting, but Damien is right. You and your work will only suffer if you don't nip this issue in the bud. So, with a deep sigh, you fetch your coat, obediently locking up the office and following Damien down the hall. He pauses to speak to the secretary, informing them you'll be out of the office for the remainder of today and all of tomorrow, on Damien's orders. You're glad Damien doesn't say the truth, that he's forcing you out of work because you're sick. After all, it would be rather embarrassing for the mayor to need to drag an ill district attorney home. Well, it was embarrassing, but only to you, as no one else knew about it.

Damien brought you to where his driver was waiting outside the building, quickly rattling your address off to the driver as you get settled. It isn't too far a drive, you live reasonably close to where you work after all, and soon you're sitting at your own kitchen table as Damien wanders through the kitchen, gradually collecting ingredients and cooking tools as he goes. He's taken off his jacket and vest, eventually rolling up the sleeves of his shirt as he starts fusing with some of the ingredients he had gathered.

"Dames, what are you doing?" You ask, "You got me home, you don't have to stay," Damien looks at you like you've grown a second head, pausing for only a moment before continuing his quest.

"Friend, you were barely able to walk from the car to your table. There's no way I would just leave you here unattended. Would you even be able to cook for yourself?"

"You don't need to cook for me. I'm fine,"

"When's the last time you ate, then?"

"Dinner last night," 

"And did you actually eat a full meal?"

"Yes?" Damien pauses again, frowning at you, "Fine, no. I couldn't finish it,"

"You need to eat, so I'll cook for you," Damien sets a glass of water in front of you before going to the pot, starting to fill it with water and putting it on the stove. 

"Drink that; with your fever, you'll need the hydration," he calls over his shoulder, ignoring your grumbling. The more stubborn part of you is a bit indignant at the treatment- you're an adult, a freaking _district attorney_ , and Damien is instructing you on how to take care of yourself like you don't know any better. The more honest part of you is relishing in the attention because it's _Damien_ taking care of you, sweetly looking out for your health and well being. You drink the water as you watch Damien work. He slowly added things to the pot, having dug up some veggies and herbs that you had nearly forgotten about, and adding those once they're cleaned and cut. 

In a half-hour, there's a warm bowl of chicken noodle soup in front of you, Damien smiling warmly as he sits at the other side of the table with his own bowl. 

"I had to improvise some of the ratios, so I hope it tastes alright," he says, sounding almost nervous. Is he worried you won't like it?

It's definitely one of the better soups you've had, not over seasoned but not bland like most foods made for an upset stomach are. You find yourself smiling as you take another spoonful. 

"I didn't know you cooked," you say. The last time you had seen Damien cook was back in university- if that could be called cooking with the less than stellar results of most of his attempts.

"Well, I learned the basics from Celine before she moved in with Mark, but my staff does most of the cooking anymore," Damien explains, starting on his own bowl.

"I owe Celine a thank you. Last time you cooked for me, it's what caused me to be sick," you laugh slightly as you remember that "meal," using the term "meal" loosely, of course.

"In my defense, we _were_ drunk," Damien points out, smiling at the memory. He's only smiling because he wasn't unlucky enough to eat it.

"Yes, and then _I_ was suffering from food poisoning," he laughs fully at that, and you're thankful that at least a funny story came out of your misery. Damien finishes much faster than you do, but he sits with you and entertains with some more reminiscing as you slowly finish the full bowl.

"Why don't you go to your room and get in something more comfortable? I'll tidy up here and will be up in a moment," Damien suggests, standing to take your bowls to the sink.

"Dames, you really don't need to stay,"

"None of that, I always have time to be there for you. Go on upstairs," your protest dies in your throat when Damien briefly rests his hand on top of yours, squeezing gently. Then he's heading back over to the sink, starting the water and rinsing the dishes. You make your way upstairs, changing into a more comfortable outfit, resting on the edge of your bed after the effort of getting upstairs and getting changed. Damien knocks before coming in, always the gentleman, bringing a glass of water with him. 

"I really don't need you to supervise me taking a nap," you point out as he sets the glass on your bedside table. 

"I won't be supervising; I'm just keeping you company. You get settled in; I have to grab something." Part of you is embarrassed at the idea of Damien sitting with you while you sleep, but the other part of you recognizes the number of things he had seen you do in university and, well, taking a nap beside him was nothing compared to that.

You're laying down, just getting comfortable, when Damien reenters, carrying his briefcase in the hand not occupied by his cane. 

"Do you mind if I sit beside you?" He asks, not even resting his hand on the bed until you nod. You glance over at him as he settles in, first noticing he was polite enough to kick off his shoes, then noticing his bare forearms, sleeves still rolled up from preparing lunch. He pulls out a file from the briefcase, starting to read it over while humming something under his breath. Damien's voice is rich and sweet enough when speaking, but his hums are like melted chocolate. You don't even notice how tired and relaxed you are until you're dozing off, asleep in mere minutes.

The sun is setting when you wake up, Damien's silhouette practically glowing with the late afternoon sunlight that hits him from the window. He's buried in another file, pen in hand. His other hand, you notice with surprise, is holding one of yours, thumb idly stroking the back of your hand as he reads, occasionally making a note. Now that you're awake, you should pull away, because this isn't proper- Damien's your friend, and your _boss_ , but he's also so warm, and you're so comfortable, and you never want to let go of his hand. You shift slightly, drawing his attention your way, and you could die from how much affection is held in his smile as he notices you're awake.

"Ah, there's the little monster," he greets, and even though you're awake, he doesn't pull his hand away. You look down at your joined hands, Damien following your gaze- for a second, you swear he's blushing as he pulls away, but it could easily be the lighting.

"I'm sorry about that, you grabbed at my hand while you were asleep, and I didn't want to disturb you," he explains. 

"Ah, sorry about grabbing you," you reply, a bit embarrassed.

"Don't apologize, I didn't mind," now that's _definitely_ a blush rising on his face as he realizes what he said. You don't press the topic anymore; it's clear that he's flustered, so you just roll over and reach your arms above your head to stretch. You slowly move to sit, grabbing the water off your bedside table, and taking a long drink.

"Are you hungry? I can heat the soup, or maybe I could make some pasta if your stomach is feeling better,"

"I think I could handle some pasta," you say, Damien nodding and moving to stand up.

"Take your time getting downstairs; it shouldn't take too long to have dinner prepared," Damien says as he packs his files and pen away into his briefcase, sliding his shoes on and grabbing his cane before leaving the room. You take your sweet time stretching and moving to stand. The water is boiling, and Damien is adding pasta to the pot as you get downstairs. True to his word, it doesn't take very long for the noodles to be prepared, Damien adding a bit of butter and a hint of salt and pepper before serving you a plate. 

"Hopefully, it isn't too dull a meal, but we don't want to take any chances agitating your stomach even if it's feeling better right now," Damien says. The noodles are, admittedly, very plain, but it's also nice to have something a bit heavier in your stomach, even if it isn't a very exciting meal. There's less conversation this meal- you aren't sure that you fully woke up from your afternoon nap, and Damien seems content with the silence. It's quiet even after you finish, Damien talking and washing your plates as you finish another glass of water. 

"Well," Damien starts once the dishes are set in the drying rack, fusing with his cane in a way that betrays discomfort.

"Well?" You question, not having enough context to prompt him further.

"I know it's a bit early, but since you're sick, you probably should be heading to bed soon," he says.

"Right. Would you want to stay the night?" You're not sure where the boldness to ask that question came from, your face burning with a blush as soon as you say it. Damien looks just as embarrassed but, well. He hasn't shut you down, hasn't proclaimed how immoral it is to even suggest that.

And then, "Do you really want me to stay?"

That's not the response you were expecting.

"I'd be happy to have you," while the sentiment was true, it was much bolder than you would usually be.

"Then I'd be happy to stay," your heart melts when he looks at you like that- if you were a little younger, a little more confident and naive, you would call that expression one of love. As it were, you knew better than to call it that, but it made your heart flutter nonetheless. 

So, you end up lying on your side in bed, respectfully facing away as Damien removes his shirt and belt and his slacks. It was the only practical way for him to sleep, you had both agreed, but you wouldn't encroach on his privacy and observe as he disrobes. The situation was indecent enough as it is; there was certainly no reason to add to it. You're blushing as the bed dips, the covers shifting a bit as he slides between them. 

You reach for the bedside table, turning off the lamp, plunging the room into a darkness that feels almost oppressive. You're hyper-aware of everything- his breathing, your own breathing, the warmth of having another person in the bed, the way the bed moves as Damien shifts. Then, a deep breath.

"Would you," Damien pauses, speaking quietly, "could I hold you?"

_That isn't a question you asked a friend_ , you think, blushing at the implications behind him asking that.

"I wouldn't mind that," you answer, and your voice sounds too loud in the quiet room. There's more shifting then, a hesitant arm resting over your side, and you can tell that Damien hasn't fully settled, posed to pull away at any moment. So, you snuggle back, feeling his chest against your back, sighing as you let yourself relax into his touch. He relaxes a moment later, his arm a comfortable pressure on your side, breath warm where it occasionally brushes your ear. You fall asleep like that, his warmth almost painfully comfortable, and you have a blissfully deep sleep for the first time in ages.

The first thing you notice is how bright the room is, the sun much deeper in the sky than it would usually be when you get up. The next thing you notice is how much better you feel, no traces of nausea and barely tired. Then you notice that your bed is empty, and it's an incredibly disappointing realization that Damien had left while you were sleeping. But, on your bedside table was a glass of water, still cool, and a folded note with your name on it in curling script. 

"My dearest,

I am terribly sorry to leave while you're still asleep. Unfortunately, I received an urgent request and had to go into the office earlier than I had been planning, and you needed the rest, so I didn't want to wake you. I left instructions for reheating the soup down in the kitchen, make sure you eat lunch and drink plenty of water. After work today, I will be stopping by check in on you, but you can call me if you need anything. Feel better soon.

Love, 

Damien" 

He called you his _dearest_ and he signed the note with , and you’re nearly swooning. You can't count how many times you skim the note, grinning every time your eyes cross his signature. Eventually, you manage to get up- you haven't had a proper day off in forever, and you fully intend to take advantage of it with a proper lazy day. And, at the end of the day, you get to look forward to your dearest, your Damien, coming home to you. 

Well, maybe coming down with a cold isn't the worst thing after all.


End file.
